


Keep Calm. Dance On.

by Psychopersonified



Series: Where was the wooing? [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Q dances, Sharing Drink, clueless, excuse to be close, intimacy in plain sight, oblivious dating?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:55:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23590438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psychopersonified/pseuds/Psychopersonified
Summary: Prequel series to "Are we ever going to talk about this?".I'll post little snippets of their 'not dating' days in this series. Little events that draw them together and the intimacy they share in plain sight.--------“Is that Nish’s mix of Vodka, Redbull and Ribena?” Q surprises him by reaching for the glass, fingers curling around Bond’s to pull it close and takes a sip from it.The gesture is scandalously intimate considering they are still in HQ among colleagues - if anyone was watching, it would seem as if Bond was feeding him the drink.---------Notes: Inspired by Tom Hiddleston’s dance moves. If you haven't watched it, you have to! ENJOY!
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: Where was the wooing? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698100
Comments: 6
Kudos: 215





	Keep Calm. Dance On.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an excuse to write a dancing Q and the effect it has on 007.

**SIS HQ - Q-Branch Lower Ground Level 1**

**Friday 9:00pm**

They have rigged the lights to strobe and change colours like in a club. Electronic dance music blares from the PA system. The office space on Lower Ground level 1 has been cleared, equipment moved to the edges and covered with black cloth. 

Bond is nursing a violently sweet concoction that included a large percentage of Redbull, Ribena and Vodka that Nish handed to him at the door. 

He sidles up to Eve catching her attention by touching her on the arm with the hand holding the drink. 

“What _is_ this?” Bond has hardly been to any social gatherings organised internally. Except formal affairs where attendance was compulsory, he’s eschewed getting too chummy with his colleagues. 

Eve smiles at him a little disbelieving, “James, haven’t you ever been to one of these? Oh you’re in for a treat.”

It does not look like much is going on at the moment. A large section of the central floor is outlined and gridded with hazard tape in what looks like a potential dance floor. However, no one is dancing despite the music, preferring to keep to the edges. 

“What a smashing party,” his voice dipping with sarcasm.

“Oh James, don’t be so quick to judge. Just wait—…”

And just then, the lights dim as if on cue. The outer glass doors swish open and white smoke floating low on the ground rolls into the main space. A tall slim male figure is silhouetted in the doorway. The crowd quiets down immediately. 

“What’s happening?” 

“Hush!” Eve bids him, pulling them into a better position. 

The music picks up. The figure descends the short flight of stairs, feet quick and lithe, then comes sauntering towards the dance floor in long easy strides. The crowd parts for him. 

He stops right in the centre of the dance floor and the lights brighten just enough to reveal of all people, the Quartermaster dressed in an impeccable black suit - this one for once tailored perfectly to his lanky figure. The jacket and trousers are tight accentuating the slim waist and long slender legs. The hair is still a floppy artful mess, but the back is clipped short and neat, making him look much younger than he really is - he could still effortlessly pass as a university student.

Bond chokes badly on his drink, hiding it quickly with a cough. Not quick enough. Eve’s eyes slide to the left to regard him with with a look and a smirk. 

On the dance floor, Q strikes a nonchalant pose. A hand comes up to undo the single button on the dinner jacket. His hips start moving to the rising beat. The air is thick with anticipation. 

Then it happens - the beat drops and Q is a sudden blur of movement. His long legs ripping up the dance floor in time with the music and with practiced ease. His movements are precise and controlled but infused with fluid grace. 

There is no trace of the cloistered, sometimes hesitant and flailing chief boffin that calls this concrete cave his lair. These, _my_ _god_ , these are the confident movements of a young man that has done more than his fair share of clubbing in the trendy nightclubs of London. 

Bond is rendered speechless. He is aware that the intense scowl forming on his face is an over compensation - to keep his jaw from hang open otherwise.

The crowd of semi inebriated colleagues _ROAR_ , wildly appreciative. They start to close in on the dance floor. 

Around the edges of the crowd, movement catches Bond’s trained eyes. He’s not the only Double-0 invited to party. He can see 003 and 006 emerge from their lurking places behind thick brick columns. Their quartermaster’s sudden display of sexuality has piqued their interest - like predators catching the movement of prey, it is almost as if they can’t help themselves. 

_This will NOT do._ Something that has been smouldering for sometime inside Bond ignites - something deeply possessive and steeped with arousal. 

The music builds to a crescendo and the whole thing is over in less than three minutes. Q’s choreography finishing in time with it. He is panting a little, but otherwise unruffled. 

There is a brilliant smile on his face as his hands finds the edges of his jacket to straighten it with a dramatic flourish before doing up the buttons again. When he’s done, he spreads his arms, palms up in welcome - and he tips his head to the crowd. 

The Quartermaster officiates the party by calling to everyone, “Please, carry on!” 

With that the music starts again and the party begins in earnest. People clapping, cheering and pouring onto the dance floor. The place is transformed in an instant. 

The melee of moving bodies helps Q melt into the crowd and Bond looses sight of him for a moment. He sees 003 dart out from her position to slice into the crowd. Her red hair and light coloured outfit making her more easy to see. 

_Shit_. Bond scans the crowd for Q. When he finds the quartermaster, he launches himself into the crowd - completely forgetting to take leave of Eve who was still standing next to him. 

_How rude!_ Eve doesn’t really take offence. In fact, she’s surprised he’s lasted this long. She barks out a laugh and shakes her head. 007 likes to think he’s an international man of mystery - but he can be so obvious at times. 

Conveniently for Bond, Q was making his way in his direction - or more likely towards Eve. They’d probably agreed to meet somewhere near the drinks table. 

Bond intercepts smoothy, he passes Q on the man’s right and swings around behind him to end up on the left. This allows Bond to hook his right arm around Q’s waist briefly before resting his palm on the small of his back. 

The move catches Q off guard who was about to say hello to Bond. For a moment, he felt a twinge of embarrassment when thought the agent was going to walk straight past him - only to be startled when 007 ends up nearly pressed to his side on the left. 

“Have you been holding out on me Quartermaster?” the loud music an excuse for Bond to lean in close, lips nearly touching Q’s ear. 

He takes the opportunity to glance back to where he last saw 003. She was just ten feet shy of catching up to them. He sends her a wink and she stops in her tracks. She smiles back with a shake of her head conceding defeat. 

“Ah, 007. I see you’ve decided to grace us with your presence after all.” Q smiles up at him. He is still panting slightly from the exertion of the dance - his lips are dark pink and there is beautiful colour in his cheeks which just further highlights the smooth curve of his cheekbones. 

The effect hits Bond like a punch to the gut. _Fuck._ He wants so badly to devour those lips. To bury his hands in that ridiculous hair. To make him _pant_ prettily in his arms. ..

“…Bond? Are you alright?” Q’s concern snap him out of his thoughts. 

“Ah yes. Sorry, where are my manners. Let’s get you a drink.” Bond holds up his half empty glass in his left hand and gestures towards the drinks table.

“Is that Nish’s mix of Vodka, Redbull and Ribena?” Q surprises him by reaching for the glass, fingers curling around Bond’s to pull it close and takes a sip from it. 

The gesture is _scandalously_ intimate considering they are still in HQ among colleagues - if anyone was watching, it would seem as if Bond was feeding him the drink. 

The thought of it results in a flaring heat of arousal that nearly causes him to trip - and he has to violently push it back into its cage. Bond is pretty sure he is starting to show in his trousers. 

“Ugh! Every bit as vile as imagined,” Q passes verdict on the drink. The sip leaves a layer of shiny sweet liquid on his lips and Bond wonders how it would taste if he were to lick it off. 

_Stop it. Behave!_ Bond is blindsided by the intensity of his own reactions. At this rate he is not sure how he will survive the night.

“Come. I know what you’ll like..” Q veers off before they reach the drinks table. Bond’s imagination is going to overdrive and his mouth dry. He follows closely because that is all he can do at the moment. He would have followed Q right off a cliff if it meant he could remain within touching distance. 

They peel away from the crowd of revellers and make their way to the back of the cavernous space. There is a recessed area in the back, off to the side that serves as Q’s unofficial office. It is dark, but there is just enough light from the party to illuminate the area dimly. 

Q ducks into a corner and switches on one of the worklamps, angling the shade upwards so it throws light onto the ceiling instead. The effect is to softly illuminate the recess - almost romantic. 

Then Q goes to the filing cabinet behind his desk and pulls out from the bottom drawer a bottle of 12 year old Macallan Whisky; three quarters full. He looks around the workspace for something. 

“…I don’t have a clean glass.” Q explains. 

Bond looks around, he sees the penholder on Q’s desk. It is an old mug with a broken handle. He removes the contents and then tips the remains of the Vodka-Redbull-Ribena into the receptacle. 

Q hands him the bottle of scotch; then moves to sit on the edge of his desk facing the party. His long legs extend out in front of him. 

Bond rinses out the glass with the tiniest amount of scotch he can bear to waste, then pours enough for both of them to share. He passes the glass back to Q before settling himself on the edge of the table as well - shoulder brushing Q’s.

“Ah, much better.” Q says after a sip. 

“Never guessed you to be a scotch drinker. Then again, never pegged you for a dancer either…” Bond says as he reaches for the glass in Q’s right hand. Instead of taking it from him, Bond returns the gesture Q made earlier - his larger hand wrapping around the smaller one to pull the glass towards himself.

“Did I meet your expectations?” Q asks, eyes not leaving his as he watches Bond take a sip. 

“Oh, I’d dare say you’ve exceed it—“ he replies after he swallows. Then right into Q’s ear, “—by a wide margin.” 

Q shoots him a fond look that tells him how ridiculous he is being, but makes no move to put any distance between them. It is a brief look, but tenderness blooms in his chest and he has to look away before he does something stupid. 

His eyes end up following the stretch of long slim legs clad in tight trousers; which was a poor move. He knows he is going to end up with the worst case of blue balls by the end of the night. 

They stay that way for the next half hour. Watching the party, gossiping a little and sharing the drink. Not once did he remove the glass from Q’s hand, preferring to repeat what he did earlier each time he takes a sip - drinking right out of the quartermaster’s hand. 

\---------------------


End file.
